


Voices

by Nybbas



Category: Supernatural, Veronica Mars (Movie 2014), Veronica Mars (TV), Veronica Mars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nybbas/pseuds/Nybbas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her first year at Stanford all anyone would talk about was the fire, the poor dead girl, and the suspiciously absent boyfriend, but Veronica Mars had told herself she didn't do that anymore. Now back to work as a PI in Neptune, Veronica runs into Sam Winchester while investigating a murder at the Neptune Grand and sees her chance to give justice to a girl who burned to death over ten years ago. However, she might need to team up with the Winchesters, despite the fact that they're probably serial killers, when the Neptune Grand killer turns out to already be dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Features plot lines from the Veronica Mars movie and a few characters from the novel, but can be understood by those who haven't seen/read.

"Bacchus hath drowned more men than Neptune" -Thomas Fuller

Neptune, California. Sure it’s got the surf, the sand, the stars, and the overpriced beachfront property of your dreams, but hey, it’s home. For some of the kids here, they’ll never leave town, either because they can’t afford it or they can afford not to. I suffered through nineteen years of Neptune and I made plenty of enemies on the way out, including but not limited to: the richest man in town, two secret societies, a cult, a biker gang, the Irish mob, and, of course, the Neptune sheriffs department. But then I got out. Completely. Other side of the country out. Which doesn’t help explaining how I ended at the Neptune Citizen of the Year Award Gala chatting up my first grade teacher and trying desperately to remember the name of the squirrelly waiter who just called me by name when serving me crab cakes. 

That’s me, Veronica Mars, social butterfly. 

When I received the invitation a few weeks prior, I spent hours pouring over it for signs of forgery or anticipating potential ambushes, until finally Mac took pity on me and informed me that the invitation had arrived addressed to the guest of one Logan Echolls. The Echolls name had lost its sway in Neptune, but thankfully it seemed that money still talked, and I strongly suspected that the party hostess and board of Commerce chairwoman Petra Landros had something to do with out invite status. 

Across the crowded ballroom of the Neptune Grand, I spotted Petra Landros wearing an exquisitely tailored Dior gown in a tasteful deep blue. We had a working relationship, and I suspected she was calling me into action seeing as the historic Neptune Grand hotel had recently come under fire after a series of unfortunate workplace accidents occurring during a few renovations and expansions she had spearheaded. With Neptune as it was, half of the town rumbled darkly about the rich carelessly endangering their workers and the other half silkily insinuated that the ungrateful laborers ought to consider where the money for these projects came from in the first place. A Neptune classic. 

“Listen, Mrs. Bernstein, it really was lovely talking with you and congrats on the nomination, but I should find my-“ I excused myself and Logan appeared at my elbow almost instantaneously. Mmm, those dress whites. I knew there was a reason I came to these parties. 

“How’s the mingling going? Are we going to hobnob with the real elites now? Do they like my dress?” I whispered as Logan drew me back behind a potted plant, grinning his devilish grin.

“Mingling isn’t quite the word I would have chosen. I tend to do some light associating, followed by casual fraternizing,” he murmured into my ear. I drew myself up to my full, if somewhat pathetic, height. 

“Buck up men, only two mores hours in hostile territory and we’ll all be flying home for Christmas,” I reported, saluting him. Then when he frowned I grasped his hand tightly and urged, “Please don’t get into a fist fight at this party, Logan, no matter how many ugly things they dredge up.”

“I don’t know how you can say such hurtful things, Veronica, my fist fighting days are over as are my days of getting a little sweaty and removing my shirt and wrestling around and…” Logan began, but I laughed and elbowed him in the stomach. “Besides, the Queen of vipers herself already honored me with an audience and she considerately managed to bring up my father, your father, and Carrie within a five minute conversation.”

Logan gestured across the room to Celeste Kane, yet again nominated for the Citizen of the Year award despite being an enormous bitch. We’d never really been on good terms, but after she shot Weevil Navarro for protecting her car, I’d sort of lost the ability to be within five feet of her and not punch her in the face.

“If they don’t give that award to poor Mrs. Bernstein, I’ll snap. Honestly, I’d even be alright if Jessica Fuller won this year, just as long as it’s not her,” I growled. Logan opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly Martina Vasquez descended upon him, yanking an impressive array of wire and microphones from her cleavage. Her followers discreetly shoved me aside and I found myself alone in the middle of the crowded ballroom. Petra Landros was conferring with a few official looking men, preparing to announce this year’s winner. 

I looked around, feeling under dressed and under liked in a sea of familiar, and decidedly unfriendly faces. Oh Veronica, but you never used to care if they liked you or not. You just needed one friend, one fellow outsider, one person in need, and you were in your element. 

I looked up and that’s when I saw him.

He was tall, ludicrously tall, with broad shoulder squeezed into a dark suit. His hair had grown long, a shaggy chestnut mane around his face. A little older than I remembered, with a few lines of fatigue around the corners of his eyes, and a permanent tilt of worry to his brow, but I knew it was the same man. Sam Winchester. I knew him, a long time ago. 

\------------

Memories from a time in my life where I don’t even feel like myself. Out of Neptune, out of life. Is there a Veronica Mars without this town?

I am eighteen years old, a senior in high school, and every night I wake up breathless with my head full of dead classmates plunging into the ocean. The weekend comes upon me suddenly, and I almost forget to leave town. As I drive away, north on the PCH, I open the windows of the LeBaron and Veronica Mars blows away. No more nightmares, tangled up knots of romance, fears, or secrets. I am a girl, and I am hoping to go to college.

Stanford surrounds me and when I step out of my car, I am in a different world. Green lawns filled with lounging students. And not one of them knows me.

The admissions office gives me a little canvas bag full of folders and pens and key chains emblazed with a firm red ‘S’. I sit with a group of other nervous high schoolers, some with that glossy, bred and raised for success look that usually accompanies racehorses, and others like me, goggling around in disbelief and trying not to lose their official pens.

“Hi everyone, are we ready to start the tour?” A bright voice says. A young woman enters, an older student. She has long waves of golden hair and squeaky clean American good looks. Strangely, I like her at once. 

“Alright, I’ll just start out with a little bit about me. My name is Jessica Moore, I’m a senior Bio major from the bay area. If everyone’s ready, I’ll start the tour. We’re going to start with a walk around our main quad and I’ll tell you a little about the school,” she says and the little flock of people flutter off with her. 

I walk at the back, feeling strangely small without the two parent escort everyone else seems to have brought. If nothing else, the parents can keep track of the official pen. Jessica walks backward like a pro and everyone on campus seems to know her, waving and shouting her name. With her in the spotlight, glowing, I feel pleasantly invisible.

As we pass the library an enormous boy comes dashing up to her, like an incredibly gorgeous puppy and with ease he lifts her up and spins her around.

“Sam, stop, I’m doing a tour!” She protests, laughing and blushing. The boy sets her down gently, looking bashful and flicks overlong hair out of his eyes.

“Oh, uh, hi everyone. Come to Stanford!” He advertises, but before he lopes off he cannot resist pressing a kiss to Jessica’s lips. For a moment we all stand in awe at this godlike couple, bathed in sun and happiness. It’s good advertising.

Towards the end of the tour, as Jessica walks us back to where we began, we fall into step.

“Your name was Veronica, right?” She says and I freeze up, certain she’s recognized me from some recent scandal. 

“Yes,” I say, trying not to let my walls go up too quickly. Still, my voice prickles. 

“Good! Even in my old age, my mind is still sharp. You said you might be interested in Pre-law and my boyfriends going to law school after we graduate so I thought I’d give you his contact info if you ever want to chat about the program.”

“Oh, thanks,” I say as she scribbles down an email address and phone number. For such a neat, pretty girl, she has terrible handwriting. It makes me smile.

“You know, I think you could be a good lawyer, you’ve got the face for it,” She continues. Testing the water, I smirk a little.

“By which you mean I have resting bitch face, I assume.”

“We’re California blondes. We’ve all got a little bit of bitch face, thank Buffy.”

And that’s the last time I see her, sharing a moment of herself with me and substituting Buffy for God. By the next fall I’m at Hearst, still hurting and heavy with Neptune. 

 

And when I finally transfer to Stanford, I hear whispers about the fire, the suspiciously absent boyfriend, and I visit her grave. I want so badly to throw myself into another long fight for justice, to spend hours fixated on the life and death of Jessica Moore, but I’m torn up and limping from the last battle and I’ve told myself I don’t do that anymore. 

I imagine the happy couple, pressed together in the sunlight, and she grows brighter and brighter in his presence until she has no choice but to burn. 

\------------

Suddenly I snapped back to the Neptune Grand and the party. Sam Winchester hadn’t noticed me yet. He stood across the room, chatting politely to… Preston McCann? Why would Sam Winchester be talking to the head of the very construction project that’s been causing the Grand so much trouble? I was supposed to be interviewing him discreetly tonight, per a very subtle suggestion of Ms. Landros who believed that someone wants to sabotage the project right before the grand reopening this weekend. 

Beside Sam Winchester was another hulk of a man with an alarmingly pretty face perched atop a linebacker body. He had short cropped hair, perhaps a reactionary choice given the mane his companion was sporting. 

Subtly as I could, I squeezed through the crowd towards them, ducking hors d’oeuvres and jumping over trailing gowns. When I got near enough to hear their conversation, I accepted a glass of Champaign from a waiter, and grew stood just close enough to another group of people that I might conceivably be a part of their conversation. 

“-What about the lights? Have you noticed any flickering or shorting out?” Sam Winchester asked Mr. McCann. 

“Well, yeah, but that’s pretty regular on a job like this, we’ve got all sorts of guys messing with the wiring,” Mr. McCann said, squinting oddly at his interviewers, “which union did you say you were with?”

“Electricians,” Sam’s companion answered instantly, an affably blank smile crossing his face, “we’ll be doing a few EMF scans tomorrow, if that’s alright. For the wiring, you know.”

“Fine, fine,” Mr. McCann waved them away, looking haggard, “you got any more questions or can we all get back to enjoying this party?”

“No more questions, sir, thank you,” Sam said just as Petra Landros mounted the stage to present the award. Sam nodded to his partner and they began slipping backwards towards the exit. Whoever they were, I had serious doubts about the electricians union. If someone was trying to sabotage the hotel, these two were my first suspects. 

Fighting against the current of people moving to take their seats, I pushed my way to the edge and managed to slide out a side door just as the talk inside of the ballroom quieted and Petra Landros’ smooth voice welcomed them to the event and urged them to attend the next weekend’s grand reopening ball. 

The hallway outside was quiet, and of course I had no idea which way Sam Winchester had gone. I slipped off my heels and then held them, guessing that they might be headed for the construction area. As I rounded a corner, I heard their voices up ahead once again. 

“I don’t know Dean, it could be a spirit or it could just be a really crappy town full of assholes,” Sam was saying to his companion, apparently named Dean. 

“Look Sammy, it’s a creepy old hotel with more violent deaths to its name than most Detroit alleys. Chances are good, it’s out kind of job,” Dean replied. His voice was deeper than Sam’s, a gruff yet careless drawl that reminded me of the old Westerns my dad watched when he felt particularly morose. 

“I say we look around tomorrow and if there’s still nothing definitive we get out of town. This is all a little high profile for us, and I don’t want to get mixed up in anything,” Sam muttered. I felt a chill go down my spine and I shivered. I doubted they could hear my shallow breaths from where I hid, just behind a doorframe. 

“No, we really wouldn’t want any trouble,” Dean’s voice said, something strange in his tone.

Suddenly both of them stood in front of me, enormous and stern-faced. I fumbled for my tazer, drawing back into the corner. 

“Oh, hey, is this the way to the bathroom? I’m, like, so lost with all this construction,” I giggled lamely. 

“You’re Veronica Mars, aren’t you?” Dean said with a smirk, “your name pops up in all sorts of interesting local cases around here.”

“That’s funny, I don’t remember it being interesting. I remember catching murderers,” I said, dropping the act and scowling at Sam. He looked a little taken aback. “You wouldn’t remember me, Sam, but you know how old alums love to find one another and reminisce. Good old Stanford, right? I had such a persuasive campus tour guide, it’s a real pity she burned to death before I got to campus.” 

Sam’s face crumpled, as though I’d reached forward and slapped him. 

“You knew her?” He said, his voice delicate and brittle. Dean shouldered in front of him a little, as if he could defend him from the words with his bulk.

“I did,” I said coldly, “but I was out of the game back then. Bad news, though, Winchester, I’m back in now.”

“You’re a hunter?” Dean asked.

“What? I’m a private detective. What the hell would I be hunting in Southern California?” I retorted.

As if in response the light over our heads flickered and I suddenly felt a puff of icy cold air coming from some unseen vent. Sam fumbled in his pocket, pulling out a battered plastic square that was emitting a scratchy buzzing sound. Sam exchanged a look with his partner, both of them suddenly tense. Combat training, I suddenly realized, they both had the instincts I noticed in Logan after he’d enlisted. 

“Get out of here,” Sam said to me, sternly, “leave the hotel as quickly at you can. If you can, find salt or iron…” 

“Why? So I can fry up a delicious steak while I let my suspects escape?” I said, revealing the tazer behind my back and smiling cheerfully. 

“If you don’t listen to us now, you won’t live long enough to find out,” Dean growled, grabbing my arm. I ripped it away, furious.

“If that was a threat, you’re about to really regret it,” I snarled back at him. 

“Just please, please do what we say for now,” Sam begged, his eyes soft and pleading. 

A scream interrupted the squabble. I tore off towards it, dropping my heels with a clatter and hiking up my gown. Sam and Dean passed me, skidding around corners. I saw the outline of a gun under Sam’s dress shirt as his coat flapped. 

Just outside the back entrance of the ballroom, where the party was still in full swing, I spotted the body lying on the ground. Her tasteful black dress spread out around her body in waves of silk and her face still shone with tears. One side of her head had burst into a puddle of blood that spread over the plush carpet. It was Jessica Fuller, potential citizen of the year and school board chairwoman.

I burst into the ballroom, calling for help, just as Celeste Kane finished her acceptance speech, a glittering trophy wedged under her arm. The noise changed from a pleasant buzz to a panic roar as people pushed out of the room. Logan shoved past a group of wealthy socialites and sent a tray of cocktail shrimp flying. 

I looked back out into the hallway and Sam Winchester was, of course gone. But not like last time, I thought grimly. I was going to do what I should have done nearly ten years ago and solve this case.


	2. Chapter 2

"There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke." -Vincent van Gogh

My dad always worries about me rushing into something and getting hurt. To clarify, I’m fairly certain that my dad is incapable of not worrying about me at a base level every second of the day. But as my father, he’s worried that I’ll get hurt by acting rashly.

As my mentor and former employer, however, he’s worried that I’ll overlook evidence or risk invalidating my case due to lack of patience. I guess he knows he’s partially to blame, after all, he’s the one who raised me on gritty old detective movies where the protagonist always advises you to “trust your gut.”

My gut told me that Sam Winchester loved his girlfriend and that I was working on a case more complicated than I could have dreamed. But Mac’s extensive background check told me that Sam Winchester, along with his older brother Dean, was a serial killer twice presumed dead by the FBI. 

“Look Veronica, I know how you love the whole handling the case alone because the world is against you thing, but I really think we might need to hand this one over,” Mac said, running her fingers through her short crop of hair and leaning back into her desk chair. 

I examined her laptop, which she had spun in my direction so I could see the assortment of very alarming articles she’d gathered about the Winchester brothers. The word grave robbing came up more times than I would have liked. 

“We aren’t calling the sheriffs department, Mac,” I warned, “calling the sheriff only leads to pain, suffering, and extremely irritating warrants.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest the sheriff, I was going to suggest that we tip off the FBI,” Mac said smoothly.

“Oh,” I followed up lamely. 

“My keen detective senses, you know, those ones you’ve been honing in me? They must be malfunctioning because they are telling me that you don’t want to turn in the grave robbing serial killers to the FBI,” Mac said disapprovingly, leaning forward in her chair. 

“I-“ I began, frustrated that I had no good reason for refusing, “Well, I know they didn’t murder Jessica Fuller. And I just want a chance to get to the bottom of this Neptune Grand thing before the FBI trample all over it. I know they’re involved, and I’m not going to get myself involved. I just want to understand a little more and then we can, you know, call the FBI.”

“Too bad,” Mac said smugly, pulling her laptop back towards her, “I already called them.”

“I should never have hired you,” I scowled at her.

“Your welcome,” she grinned, “now go enjoy the rest of Logan’s leave in some sort of sex coma that I really wish I wasn’t thinking about now and drop this case.” 

I slunk out of the office, defeated and pouting. I knew I should call Logan, meet him for lunch or something, try to do normal relationship stuff for a while, but my brain had shifted over into full work mode and it was difficult to do anything other than theorize, track, find, prove. Hunter, that’s what Winchesters had called me. Maybe there was more to it than I’d thought. 

I headed back to the Neptune Grand, now a dark hulking mass in the middle of town. Even if I couldn’t go chasing after the Winchester brothers my self, I could still work the case at the hotel. The sheriffs department had closed off the hallway behind the ballroom with crime scene tape, but apparently renovated luxury suites waited for no murder investigation. I slipped quietly down to the construction sight, and then in a stroke of luck, borrowed an empty room service cart from outside of a room. Pushing the cart, the construction workers parted before me. 

One of them I recognized as a friend of Weevil’s from high school, but I ducked my head and he didn’t recognize me. Finally, I found a door labeled as Preston McCann’s office. I tried it, pushing it open just a crack, but it was empty. I pushed the cart in, and shut the door behind me. 

Aimlessly, I began riffling through the papers on his desk and yanking open drawers, while the laptop on the desk booted up. I spotted an official looking folder bursting with various types of paper, and immediately seized it as a likely candidate. It was every file McCann had about the accidents. Bingo. 

Most of it was official looking documents about compensation and legal obligations, but on a few flimsier sheets of paper, I found the coroners reports. An electrician who’d fallen off of his ladder, a drywaller found on the ground after his friends heard a yell, a painter who’d somehow been smashed into a wall. The cause of death for all of them was a head wound, as though they’d fallen, but two of them hadn’t been anywhere near a ladder at the time of death. 

Suddenly I heard low male voices coming closer and closer to the door to the office. I seized the papers I hadn’t finished reading and stuffed them under the sliver trays dome lid before quickly backing out of the office and heading down the hall. I could hear Preston McCann right behind me, talking as he walked.

“I am not about to shut this sight down because of the unofficial opinion of two supposed electricians. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a project to finish on time, so you’ll have to show yourselves out,” he said snippily. 

“Mr. McCann, please just-“ a familiar voice followed. I felt a shiver down my spine. Sam Winchester was right behind me. 

I walked faster, turning down the first hallway I could and grabbing the documents out from under the tray. I shoved them into one of the air vents for later, and then I peered back down the corridor. 

Sam and Dean were loping towards the exit at the end of the hall. I sighed, knowing the incredible stupidity of what I was about to do. I was going to trust my gut.

And hopefully keep those guts exactly where they were. 

I had my doubts that I would be able to successfully tail Sam and Dean Winchester. After all, if they were the notorious super criminals I knew them to be, they could probably lose me in seconds. But when I arrived in the parking lot, breathless and pumped full of adrenaline, I spotted them easily climbing into the most identifiably strange old muscle car I had ever scene. A Chevy impala in this town would be a hell of a lot easier to follow than a Mercedes. 

I slid into my own car and pulled out after them, suddenly aware of the rumbling purr of the impala’s engine. As we sat at a stoplight, I dug my phone out and called Wallace.

“Veronica, I have research papers to grade and a game against Central this Friday,” Wallace answered.

“Hello Wallace,” I grinned sweetly into the phone, “Mmm, sorry, the smell of freshly baking snicker doodles just keeps distracting me.” 

“If I’ve taught you anything over the years, it’s how to ask politely,” Wallace said, sounding mollified.

“I need a favor, just a teeny little favor. I’ve gotten a little tied up and I need you to discreetly pick up some papers from a vent in the Neptune Grand. First floor by the construction, right beside room 135.”

“And is this something a mild-mannered yet incredibly good-looking high school teacher like myself could respectably be seen doing?” Wallace asked skeptically.

“Mild-mannered Wallace will have to slide in favor of that sexy sexy danger junkie we all know and love,” I explained. The light changed and the impala went roaring off. “Thanks so much Wallace, but I have to run.”

“Literally or figuratively?” Wallace asked. I hung up without answering.

My phone buzzed in my hand. Logan calling. I answered, because I didn’t want to risk hating myself forever.

“Hi, what’s up?” I said, slightly breathless as I made a semi-dangerous left turn.

“Hey,” Logan’s voice sounded soft on the phone, “you still at work?”

“Yeah,” I said, technically working although I knew it wasn’t what he meant.

“You want to get lunch together or something in a bit? I’m getting a little bored with this domestic love slave thing we have going on. I want you to take me somewhere public and show me off,” Logan said sardonically. I wondered if he could hear me grinning into the phone.

The Winchesters were heading to the poorer parts of town, so I changed lanes and dropped a few cars back just to make sure they didn’t grow suspicious. 

“Maybe half an hour? I just need to finish one thing up,” I said. “Meet you at the office, sweetie.” 

“I’ll drive my most embarrassing car,” he promised and hung up. I stewed in my guilt a little. Why, Veronica, do you seem to be pathologically unable to be honest with Logan? After all this time, do you still not trust him? Or does he still not trust you? Quite a couple really, a pair of terrified, paranoid liars clinging angrily to one another.

I took a deep breath and told myself that it’s different now. 

The Winchesters naturally pulled into the Camelot, an old stakeout favorite of mine. I watched them lope up the stairs to 209 and Dean opened the door. They disappeared into the dark room, their eyes just as furtive as any cheating husband I’d seen slinking through those doors. 

I sighed, thinking of Logan, Mac, Wallace, my dad all worrying and waiting for me. I sat in the parking lot, and then I googled the number for the FBI tip line. 

“Hello, I’m calling with a tip regarding Sam and Dean Winchester. My partner called earlier, I just wanted to let you know that they’re staying in room 209 of the Camelot in Neptune now,” I said when the machine answered, and then I hung up, feeling glum. 

Reluctantly I pulled out of the Camelot parking lot and headed back to the office. I mulled the evidence over, unable to shake off the detecting instinct. Back my first year of Stanford, I’d heard whispers about a fire and a mysteriously absent boyfriend. Mac had tracked Sam Winchester across the country after that, popping up in St. Louis, Baltimore, Milwaukee, Little Rock, and dozens of other strange murders not to mention the actual killing spree they’d gone on in 2011. What I couldn’t figure out was, why? Their criminal pattern was bizarrely inconsistent, not to mention unrealistically idiotic. 

Logan’s car was parked in front of the building when I returned, and I tried to brace myself for pleasant lunch conversation. It felt horrible to dread seeing the one person I was almost entirely positive that I was in love with, but the idea of falling back into that painful old pattern of protection and obsession repelled me beyond reason. I guess you could call it cowardly, but what can I say? When you get old enough to see the punches coming, you start to flinch. 

When I entered the office, Logan slouched against Mac’s desk, his sharpest smile spread thinly across his face. Uh oh, Veronica, have you been a bad girl?

From behind him, Mac gave a painfully guilty shrug. 

“Hey Veronica, I’ve got some bad news. Apparently the FBI considers our tips impossible and unrealistic and they’ve asked us not to call again about the Winchesters,” Mac said, flinching a little. 

“Serial killers, Veronica?” Logan said with his most painful grin, “how about that? I guess we’ve graduated to the next level.”

“Don’t do this,” I told him quietly, “this protective thing. I was staying away from them, I was going to let the FBI handle it.”

“It’s okay, I’m not mad, this isn’t your fault,” Logan said, still smoldering with resentment that clearly indicated it was everyone’s fault, “but we will have to get some solid evidence on these guys before we can think of turning them in again.”

“We?” I said, “Logan, you’re on leave, you can’t risk getting into something like this. This is my job and I will do it with the help of my employees, not my friends. I don’t want to drag other people through the mud anymore.”

Logan rose, bristling with snark and anger, but my phone began to ring in my pocket. I checked the screen and answered when I saw it was my father.

“Daddy-o,” I greeted him casually, slightly pleased with the interruption and determined to draw it out, “how’s business? Same as my business only slightly less glamorous?”

“Veronica,” my dad’s voice came with a sigh, “I’ve got some bad news. It’s Wallace, he was in some sort of accident at the Neptune Grand. He’s in the hospital.”

“What?” I said, numbness stealing over me.

“Listen, honey, he’s okay, he’s going to be fine. Alicia called me, actually, to make sure you knew, but she said it was a mild concussion and a broken ankle.” 

“Oh,” I said and felt myself starting to cry, almost partly from relief, “oh.” 

“He’s not supposed to have visitors all at once. The sheriffs department talked to him, but a one of my contacts said that they’re treating it as another accident.”

“I asked him to go there,” I whispered miserably. 

“Veronica, listen, please, take the day off and come home. I’ll make steak, okay?” my dad promised. 

“Logan’s here,” I murmered. 

“Bring him,” my dad said firmly, “he still eats right? Hasn’t yet moved to a diet of rations and sawdust?”

“Okay,” I said, wiping my face and beginning to breath again. 

“Can I do anything to make it better?” My dad said softly. 

“Buy me a pony?” I said my most pathetic voice.

“Not even close.” My dad said with a relieved laugh. 

“Damn!” I cursed, “I’ll see you tonight, okay, love you.” 

“Love you,” he replied and hung up.

I looked up and saw Mac and Logan leaning in, both trying very hard not to look rabidly curious. Logan fidgeted nervously with a pen from the desk, averting his eyes as he waited for the blow to fall and Mac seemed to be fighting down a small heart attack.

“It’s Wallace,” I said. 

\---------------

Taking my dad’s advice, I left work and told Mac to do the same. Logan and I drove to the firing range and I spent an hour shooting furiously at a paper target until all my frustrated, powerless rage had become a hard little ball of guilt in my stomach. Wallace was the one person who I hadn’t yet manage to drag into my world, and I liked it that way. 

“Hey Ronnie, Logan, you guys prepping for some smoking hot ‘Mr. and Mrs. Smith’ action tonight?” Came a familiar voice from behind me. Dick Casablancas stood, flicking a strand of limp blonde hair out of his safety goggles. 

“Hey Dick, come here to compensate for something?” I replied. It was a familiar old dance of ours. 

“Man, what are you doing here?” Logan asked him.

“Dad and I used to come, remember?” Dick said, “back when you had fun and stuff instead of racing around town playing private gumshoes. What is it this week? The case of the hot yet extremely irritating girlfriend?”

“Murder, actually,” I chirped, “but sadly, not yours. I hope you’re grateful for my incredible self control even when I am armed and you are annoying.”

“Great catch, buddy, but does she come in a quieter model?” Dick asked. Logan raised his eyebrows in warning. 

“Sure she does, there’s a silencer in the case actually,” Logan replied mildly, indicating my handgun. 

“When will you crazy kids ever stop, seriously, it’s so sweet, I’m going to throw up.” Dick said, beginning to swagger off. “Let me know if you crack the latest torrid scandal. Actually, don’t.”

“Won’t do,” I called back, “consider your interrogation over. After all, nothing like a murder at the Neptune Grand to slip by unnoticed.”

Dick’s face fell suddenly, and his brow creased. His mouth returned to an older, harder sneer I recognized from our high school days. 

“Whatever, Veronica, now fly your little bitch cloud off to rain on someone else,” he said, and stalked out of the room. 

“What-?” I began, but Logan frowned.

“Just leave it,” he muttered and we left.

\------------------

Going to dinner at dad’s had become a weekly tradition since I’d moved back home. Of course it helped that he’d been semi-invalid for a few months of that and desperate to eat anything but hospital food. 

He was still fairly cool around Logan. I couldn’t blame him. He’d seen how we’d tortured one another for years until finally self-destructing. But, like most of the men of his generation, the sight of another man in uniform automatically triggered a certain amount of respect. 

“So how’s leave treating you, Logan?” he asked as Logan moodily shifted mashed potatoes around his plate. I raised an eyebrow in Logan’s direction, not eager to bring up the local serial killers over dinner. 

“You know how it goes, Keith, bar hopping, chatting up the local women, sleeping on the floor because a bed can’t possibly that soft,” Logan said, a little more subdued than usual with his banter. “One day you’re scrubbing the deck of an aircraft carrier and then next your rubbing shoulders with the billionaires. It’s a wild life of adventure.”

“You do a lot of deck scrubbing then?” My dad asked skeptically. 

“Oh, didn’t we tell you dad?” I feigned gushing enthusiasm, “Logan’s been promoted to the rank of pirate scallywag!”

“It’s a real honor to hold such a solemn and ancient office,” Logan concurred, drawing an involuntary grin from my dad. Mentally, I fist pumped. 

“Speaking of holding office, the city is holding an emergency election for a new school board member to replace Jessica Fuller,” my dad said, “the sheriffs department has finally ruled her death as suspicious.” 

“Great, the sheriffs department is also so helpful when they’re stepping all over my case,” I growled. 

“Play nice, Veronica,” my dad warned mildly. 

“More stunning detective expertise from our very own cockroach overlord, Dan Lamb, living proof that both twins can be the evil one,” Logan sighed. 

“None of that disparaging talk about our local officials under this roof,” my dad said, with surprising force. Logan and I gaped. Then my dad leaned in and whispered, “because we can’t be sure they haven’t bugged the house.”

With a jolt, I began looking around, until my dad and Logan started chuckling. 

“It’s so sad that you think that’s funny,” I said with a rueful smile, “you know we’ve been bugged before. It’s not like this is unrealistic!” 

They exchanged glances and Logan smiled hesitantly. 

“My daughter the libertarian survivalist,” my dad sighed sentimentally.

“She succumbs to the paranoia when I’m the one who’s actually being constantly monitored by the government,” Logan added. 

“I hate this,” I added with a tight grin, “you’re supposed to hate each other.”

“Well I have to learn to live with this. You know I was always rooting for Wallace, Veronica,” my dad said. 

“By the way, in a manner that blatantly changes the topic, when are we allowed to visit Wallace?” I asked. 

“We can call again tomorrow morning and if he seems better, they’ll allow a short visit. The concussion is the only reason they kept him over night, but if he can focus and concentrate they’ll let him go home. The men who saved him said that he’d only been unconscious briefly,” my dad said. 

“Wait, the men who saved him?” I said, startled by the new fact. 

“Wallace doesn’t remember the attack, but a pair of brothers said the assailant fled when he heard them coming. They were the ones who took him to the hospital,” my dad said. My heart accelerated. 

“Brothers?” I said, pieces coming together in my head. 

“The one who checked him in gave the name Sam Smith and didn’t leave a local address,” my dad said with a shrug. 

“Well, that was nice,” I breathed, “for a pair of tourists.”

Logan gave me a strange look, but eventually allowed the conversation to return to more mundane topics. I smiled, quipped, and slung in a zinger or two for the rest of the night, but inside I was burning. My gut blazed with vindication and I smoldered with impatient to leave, and to find them.

Yet again, Sam Winchester had come to town and set a girl on fire.


	3. Chapter 3

“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” -Søren Kierkegaard

That night, after I’d watched Logan’s breath slow and his eyes flutter closed, I rolled quietly out of bed and crept out to get dressed in the living room. Outside the beachfront mansion, I could hear the ocean crashing against the cliffs. I drove out into the night, flinching at every turn as I remembered many years ago, a school bus, and an old friend. 

By the time I pulled into the Camelot and saw the old impala still parked in the lot, I had enough adrenaline to take on a hundred suspected serial killers. I wore my gun openly at my belt, but kept a tazer shoved under my coat. In my pocket, my phone was set to call the sheriff at the touch of a button. 

I climbed the steps to the motel room, the sight of a hundred well-documented trysts, and I knocked. 

Sam Winchester answered the door. He was obviously still up, and he now wore a heavy plaid shirt and a pair of distressed jeans I suspected were naturally obtained rather than fashionably added. 

“Hi Sam, “ I said, “We need to talk.”

“Who is it?” Dean’s voice called from the room. 

“Veronica Mars,” Sam said over his shoulder. He hesitated, and then stepped back from the entrance. “Don’t be scared okay, we aren’t going to hurt you.”

I stepped into the room. I winced a little at the sight of an enormous bag of weapons on the bed, several guns spread out and in the process of being cleaned. The wall was plastered with photographs and documents, only instead of police files and mugshots, there were photocopies of ancient books written in curling ink and lithographs of the historic Neptune Grand. The desk was piled with books. 

“You saved my friend today, so I’m going to trust you,” I announced, trying to convince myself, “my gut says that you aren’t serial killers, and that you didn’t kill Jessica Moore. So I want to know what you know.” 

“Why don’t you just let the serial killers handle it, and we’ll be out of your hair in no time,” Dean said grinning roguishly, his tone prickly. He was surrounded by empty coffee cups, but I could see the distinct outline of a flask in his pocket as well. Alarmingly, his particular brand of bitter charm reminded me strikingly of Logan. 

“Dean, she could help us,” Sam protested. 

“And do I look like I’m going away?” I followed up, stonily. 

“Son of bitch, Sammy, this case is already messy. The last thing we need is untrained cannon fodder to protect,” Dean said. 

“Dean, look at her. She’s no cannon fodder and even you can tell she’s damn well trained. You thought she was a freakin’ hunter!” Sam argued and Dean threw up his hands in defeat. 

“Fine,” he conceded. 

“Ok, Veronica, this is going to sound a little strange, but I swear to you it’s all real. If you don’t at least try to keep an open mind, you could get really hurt. So if you promise to listen to us, I’ll explain everything,” Sam said. I gave a jerky nod. 

“Talk,” 

“Okay, well you may not believe me right now, but the thing that’s been hurting people at the Neptune Grand isn’t human. We think it’s a spirit, a ghost. Now I know you’re skeptical-“ he said carefully, but I cut him off.

“Nope, makes perfect sense.” Sam gaped for a moment, then creased his brow and frowned. 

“That’s it?” he asked. 

“Explains a lot actually. My best friend in high school was a ghost. Well, she was after she was murdered. In fact, I think she saved me from dying in a bus crash.”

Sam and Dean exchanged significant glances. 

“So, whose ghost are we hunting?”

\----------------

 

It’s amazing how condescending we can become about the people living right next door to us. I guess I’d always felt a little better than the average Neptune cash whore or lowlife. But then one day the circumstances get away from you and this time you’re the one sneaking out of the Camelot early on a Friday morning, hoping to make it home before your significant other realizes you’re gone. 

I bought some precautionary donuts, of course, but returning with pastries had become so cliché as to be a definitive signal of lying. Maybe I wanted Logan to call my bluff. Maybe I wanted to fight with him. 

I yawned as I drove back, mind still reeling from a night of mind-bending discoveries. I’d spent the past couple of hours having a crash course in all things real and paranormal by Sam, with the occasional grouchy comments from Dean. And while of course I wasn’t ready to jump right in to a world that included werewolves, vampires, and all manner of creatures ripe for a teen romance novel, it certainly was an interesting possibility.

When Sam had finally stopped talking at 4:36 in the morning, I barely registered that he was waiting for my questions. He didn’t seem tired, as though he often found himself still up at this hour. His tiredness was different, a deep ancient tiredness too deeply rooted to be vanquished with eight hours of rest and a hot breakfast. 

“So did you ever find it? Whatever killed Jessica Moore?” I heard myself ask. A flash of pain passed across Sam’s face, pulling his already tilted brows closer together. 

“Yeah… we killed it. Demon actually, not a ghost,” he murmured. 

“And those earthquakes, all those natural disasters a few years ago, you think those were demons as well?” I asked. Sam nodded confirmation. 

“Well, and the angels,” he added. 

“Stretching the belief again, man,” I sighed. 

“Hey, I wish they weren’t real just as much as you,” Dean added darkly. 

“Then let’s just stick to ghosts,” I said, standing up and stretching, “I have a source that can get you all of the Grand’s records.” 

“We’ve already gotten police records, but it might help to see the hotel record as well,” Sam said, brushing his long hair out of his face as if to shake off the more metaphorical ghosts and demons who were clearly on his tail. 

Agreeing to meet the following afternoon after a few hours of sleep and my collection of the new sources, I left back towards a warm bed and a cold deception. 

Of course, when I got back to the house, Logan was still asleep. I ate the donuts of shame and watched him for a minute. His mouth was half open and his hair flattened against the pillow in a way I was certain would become hilarious in another half hour. Involuntarily, I grinned to myself. It felt like something big and warm had exploded in my chest and suddenly all of the secrets and the tension didn’t seem like such a big deal any more. I’d find a way to explain and he’d find a way to listen. 

When he finally woke up, hair comically standing up on one side, I had eaten all of the guilt donuts by myself and had fallen asleep at the table, drooling sugary ooze onto the chic glass table. 

“I see you’re also finding the pillow top mattress a bit too comfortable and have opted for the good old fashioned table slump,” Logan observed as I jerked awake. 

“I’m awake,” I protested groggily, “I’m just thinking.”

“Well, it’s better for your back to think in bed,” Logan replied mildly. 

“I need to go pick some papers up from the office soon,” I yawned. “Mac is working the phones for me, so I’ll be in and out.” 

“Alright, but we ought to visit Wallace this afternoon, they’re releasing him from the hospital.”

“In that case, you are on emergency snickerdoodle duty,” I said, shuffling to my feet, “I’ll put them in before I leave.” 

“How domestic. Didn’t I ask you to emasculate me more often?” Logan said. 

“Sorry, sweet cheeks, I’ll work on that,” I said, pinching his cheek before moving to the counter. Now, how does one bring up the subject of ghosts at a time like this? Flirty morning banter, friendly feelings on both sides, it’s the perfect time. But what could I say but ‘hey Logan, did you ever notice how our mutually beloved friend lived on as a paranormal spirit for a year or so until we avenged her death?’ 

“I, uh, I had a funny dream last night,” I began lamely, “about ghosts.”

“Generic sheet ghosts or specific ghosts?” 

“Specific. They were… very realistic. Have you ever seen a ghost?” I held my breath as I waited for his answer. 

“Um, well I’m not going to lie, Veronica,” Logan began heavily and my heart began to pound with excitement, “I’ve done some pretty intense drugs in my time, and yeah, there were some rather spectral figures.” 

“Hey, I’m actually serious,” I grumbled, vigorously shaking cinnamon into a bowl. 

“Actually serious about the subject of ghosts?” Logan’s joking smirk began to fade. 

“Yes,” I answered stiffly, “just because I’m a private eye doesn’t mean that I can’t question the reality of ghosts.”

“But, Sherlock Holmes, there’s a precedent-“ Logan protested, laughing in disbelief. 

“Well, then I really can’t explain why I didn’t get on that school bus, Logan, because I wasn’t on any intense drugs at the time, and I saw something,” I said snippily. This caused Logan to go very quiet for a few minutes while I finished preparing the snickerdoodles. 

Finally, after I’d washed my hands and set the timer, I heard him speak softly behind me. 

“Generic sheet ghost or specific ghost?”

“Specific”

“It was her, wasn’t it?” he laughed fondly, “of course she wouldn’t haunt me, she was probably still pissed.” 

I left after sticking the cookies in the oven, eager to get to the office as soon as possible. When I pulled in, I saw Mac’s car already outside even though it was still half an hour before opening. 

When I entered our little office, however, I was hit with the distinct smell of coffee and redbull mingling horribly in the air. Mac, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, sat hunched over her computer, red watery eyes barely blinking. Oh boy. I approached with caution. 

“Mac? Good morning?” I whispered and she jumped. 

“Hey! Hey, right, good morning!” she said forcefully, shaking her head as if to clear out the cobwebs. 

“I came by to get some stuff, but it looks like your busy being insane here so I’ll just be a moment,” I said, “then you can return to what is either some intense binge watching or an Infinite Jest scenario.” 

“Negative, captain, “ Mac saluted, “no Infinite Jest or Netflix here. But, seriously, I think you want to see this.”

I came around behind the computer and Mac gestured to the explosion of tabs she had opened. 

“I started digging around a little more about the Winchester brothers, and something wasn’t adding up. They’ve been involved with some seriously weird crimes, and well, I sort of lost control and learned everything and it was mostly legal, but then there was some hacking, and long story short, I think ghosts and monsters may be real,” Mac said in a rush. “Please don’t fire me.” 

I clicked through a few of the tabs she had opened. There were a few convincing photographs, an absurdly detailed web forum with unusually specific spell instructions, some police records that were pretty far from kosher, and oddly enough a series of pulp novels that seemed to be actually about the Winchesters. 

“Well, that pretty much confirms it,” I said, “great work, Mac.” 

“You don’t think I’m insane,” Mac said slowly. 

“Nope, and I don’t think Sam and Dean Winchester are either. This clears up a lot,” I said, and then a managed to find my case file for the Neptune Grand under Mac’s stack of demonic symbols. 

The file felt light in my hand, and I groaned inwardly when I remember that the most useful information I had recovered had been the papers I’d sent Wallace to find before his attack. 

I debated in my mind for a moment. Come on Veronica, you’re a liberated and empowered woman packing some heat, why not pop over to a public building in broad daylight to rummage through the vents. But then again, it wouldn’t be a Mars Investigations case if you didn’t get bailed out at least once by a charming dude, albeit one with psychotically overprotective tendencies. 

With a sigh, I informed Logan that I requested a brief escort before we went to Wallace’s. Over the phone, Logan seemed barely able to contain his glee. Ah, well, that explains a lot. Poor Logan’s not the only one who went through some serious private eye withdrawal over the ten-year hiatus. My femme fatale needed his fix. 

The Neptune Grand had ceased to look glamorous to me, and pulling up right under a large piece of scaffolding didn’t do much to help the image. My pulse began to race the moment I entered the lobby, every part of me prickling and attuned to any imagined stirring of the air or drop in temperature. 

Logan stood waiting for me near the concierge desk, wearing dark jeans and a grey t-shirt. I suspected that he had chosen his clothes with the image of an undercover agent in mind, and I almost thought he would mutter something into his wristwatch when he turned and noticed me. 

“What exactly are we doing here?” he murmured, falling into step as I walked briskly towards the construction area. 

“Picking something up, potentially hostile environment, wanted you to watch my back,” I whispered back. 

“I’m often watching it,” he smirked, “but today I’ll try to focus on other things.”

“Gross.”

“You like it.”

Up ahead, I spotted the air vent where I’d hidden the papers, and quickly pulled Logan into the hallway with me. I knelt down and began unscrewing the vent. One of my fingernails cracked at little as I pried it away, and I swore quietly. 

The file was still inside, and I seized it.

“Uh, Veronica?” Logan whispered. 

I felt a breath of cold air on my face that definitely wasn’t coming from the vent. 

“Run,” I hissed. 

I felt a hand close down on my wrist, but when I looked up there was nothing but blank air. Logan pulled from me other side, but then suddenly he flew backwards and hit the wall, hard. He slid to the floor, but seemed pinned against the plaster. 

With my untrapped hand, I fumbled in my purse for my gun, but then remembered Sam Winchester’s advice. It felt phenomenally stupid, but that probably meant it was the right call. 

Instead of the gun, I grabbed the plastic baggie of salt I’d been idiotically carrying all morning. Feeling crazy, I twisted the Ziploc open and flung the contents into the empty air. 

Immediately the pressure on my wrist ceased. Logan also seemed to be released and he scrambled to his feet. Both of us sprinted down the halls, and burst out into the lobby. Relaxing jazz piano and polite attendants surrounded us, but I kept running until I was out of the building. 

I slumped against my car, clutching the somewhat salty file to my chest and shaking with adrenaline. 

“Okay,” Logan said firmly, “okay, okay, that needs to be explained.”

“Ghosts,” I said simply. 

“Oh, oh right of course,” Logan giggled hysterically. 

“Specific ghosts,” I confirmed. 

And then somehow, just like that we were driving to visit Wallace. Life’s funny like that. And my life? Historical precedent confirms its always one tornado after another. Lucky I’m used to the spinning. 

Wallace, to my surprise, was lying on the couch listening to an audiobook when we arrived. 

“No TV? No popcorn? How can there be healing here?” I asked. 

“I’m not allowed to look at screens,” Wallace groaned, “so I’m getting real friendly with Anna Karenina instead.” 

“Oh God, we’ve lost him. The brain, it’s been compromised,” I said, faking horror. 

“Hey Wallace,” Logan said, still too afraid that a little casual ribbing with Wallace might negate his status as semi-bearable. 

“Hey,” Wallace said tolerantly, then took a long sniff. “Do I smell snickerdoodles?” 

“Freshly made,” Logan said, gently handing Wallace the Tupperware container. “Listen, I’ll leave you to alone, I have some stuff to do. Good to see you hanging in there, Wallace, let us know if there’s anything else we can do.” 

And with that he hurried outside. 

“Wow, that was squirrelly-er than usual,” Wallace remarked dryly. 

“We’ve had a weird morning,” I admitted. 

“I’ve had a weird week,” Wallace groaned. 

“Look,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable, “Wallace, I don’t even know how to say this. God, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” Tears began to well up suddenly in my eyes. I hadn’t meant to do this now. 

“Hey, hey, what are you talking about?” Wallace said, laughing gently and grabbing my hand. 

“I asked you for a favor and you got hurt. I shouldn’t be dragging my friends into my world like this, you didn’t sign up for this,” I said, fighting down the lump in my throat. 

“Veronica, listen to me,” Wallace said seriously, “I one hundred percent signed up for this. I know what it means to be your friend, and I wouldn’t trade it in for anything. Danger and concussions and everything, I am there for you.”

“You don’t get it,” I sighed, “I think I’ve gotten into something really dangerous this time, and I’m not sure what to do. I don’t even know if I ought to get involved, or if I should just let the professionals deal with it.”

“You are the professionals, you always have been. We’ve handled stuff way more dangerous than we ever thought it would be since high school,” Wallace said, his tone exasperated. 

“I know, I know, but… why? Why do it?”

“Because you and I both know that it matters. It matters that we help people. And when you find an even better way to help, you take the risk. I dunno, I think it’s worth it. Worth the danger. Worth a hundred bumps on the head by-“ Wallace paused. 

“By what?” I said, suddenly suspicious. 

“Hey, I’m concussed, what do I know,” Wallace said, suddenly clamming up. 

“Wallace, did you see it?” I asked. 

“What do you mean?” he protested weakly. 

“You know what I mean. I think you know a lot more than you’ve let on. I think you know why this is extra dangerous,” I said, both angry and amused with him. Wallace gave a little shrug. 

“I didn’t really see it, but, well, it might have felt a little… ghosty?” Wallace said, his voice squeaking a little. 

“Oh my God, you totally knew the whole time,” I groaned. 

“I’m concussed, no one will ever believe me,” Wallace sighed. 

“I believe you, stupid, because I just got attacked by a ghost!” I said a little louder than I meant to. Wallace flinched. “Oh, sorry.” 

“Listen, you need to find some guys called Sam and Dean Winchester, they can help,” Wallace said, more softly.

“Already on it, ghostbuster,” I whispered. We sat in amiable silence for a moment, and then I stood up. “I’ll let you rest again.”

“Thanks V,” Wallace said, closing his eyes again, “and remember, fight the good fight.”

Good pep talk, Wallace, I was ready to take on all manner of creepy crawlies. I just had to figure out what, or really who, I was up against. I met Sam and Dean at the local library. It seemed like it had been years since I’d me them at the Camlot, but time flies when your fighting ghosts. 

“You got the file?” Dean grunted in greeting. Sam turned around from where he sat, scrolling through the online catalogue. 

“You got the hands?” I asked cheerfully, and then dropped the heavy papers into Dean’s lap before he could react. “So, I’ve just had a run in with our spooky friend.”

“Wait, you went to the hotel?” Dean asked. 

“Yep, got a little bad touched, but somehow managed to salt my way out,” I said, sitting down. “First time I’ve ever said that.”

“Nice job,” Sam said, looking oddly pleased. 

“Whatever,” Dean said with an angry smile. I put two and two together. 

“Is there some sort of bet over whether I’ll get murdered by this ghost or not?” I asked. 

“If it makes you feel better, the terms of the bet only call for captured,” Sam shrugged. 

“Well, if I find you this ghost, I expect a cut of the profits,” I replied. 

Dean had already begun flipping through the files. 

“You know, your town has an unusual number of mysterious deaths,” Dean sighed. “This might take a while.” 

“If you think you’re going to insult me by calling Neptune the craphole that it is, find a new angle,” I said, and then something occurred to me. “And if there’s an unusual number of deaths, does that mean there’s an unusual number of ghosts?” 

“Here? I doubt it. The other guy took care of most of them for a while, but I guess he got out of the game… or the game got him,” Sam said. 

“You’re saying there used to be a… hunter here who took care of all the mystical stuff while I worked the upstairs scene?” I said, startled. 

“Yeah, we had a contact in Neptune for a while, but this business isn’t great for life expectancies,” Dean muttered darkly. 

“Well, if he took care of the supernatural situation for so many years, we can probably rule out the oldest deaths as potential ghosts,” I explained, “If, I mean, if it works that way.”

“No, that’s a good point,” said Sam, looking impressed, “let’s concentrate on anyone who died at the grand within the last ten years to start with.”

We shuffled through paper for a half an hour. Most of the cases were depressingly unghosty sounding, heart attacks and overdoses. 

“Here’s something promising,” Sam said, breaking the silence, “guy gets shot in the head, case never closed.” 

“Which side?” Dean asked. 

“Right down the center, looked professional,” Sam said, checking the details.

“All the vics had their skulls crushed, left side only,” Dean said, “that kind of patterns generally means the spirit’s reliving their own death, maybe hit with a heavy object, or hell, it’s a big hotel, maybe they fell off.”

“What?” I said, a chill running down my spine. “What did you say?”

“A ghost often kills in a way that mirrors their life, the reasons that they have for remaining, any unresolved issues,” Sam explained. 

“No, I meant, the fall,” I said, my heart beginning to pound in my chest. It couldn’t be him. It would be too much to see him again. “You said the victims looked like they’d fallen.”

“Veronica,” Sam said slowly, “did you know someone died in a fall at the Neptune Grand.”

“His name was Be- Cassidy Casablancas. He murdered an entire bus full of my classmates. He raped me. And then he threw himself off of the roof of the Neptune Grand,” I said faintly, feeling like I was floating and nothing was real, “sound ghosty enough to you?”

“I’m on it,” Dean said quietly after a few moments, and slipped away. Sam sat quietly next to me. 

“Are you, uh-“ Sam began, then ran a hand over his face and tried again, “we can take it from here, Veronica, really, you’ve been fantastic.”

“I don’t want pity. I don’t want to be protected. I want to solve this and make sure this shitty, shitty town stays safe,” I said curtly. Sam gently touched my shoulder.

“It’s not worth it, Veronica, it just isn’t. Doing this job, well, you lose a lot of people,” Sam said, “I don’t want you to be one of them.” I gave a snort of laughter. 

“I’ve been fighting and losing since I was sixteen years old. And I’ve survived. And I will keep fighting until the day I don’t,” I said, “I lost my best friend in the whole world and I spent years consumed by my desire for revenge, but in the end that’s not what its about. It’s about helping as many people as you can, even if you have to be the freak at the end of the day.”

“Funny thing, I know exactly how you feel,” Sam said, smiling a little. 

“Then let’s get to work, what do we do once we know the ghosts identity?” I said, hoping to brush off the awkwardness and get back to work. 

“Got it, he’s at the First Presbytarian,” Dean said, returning to the table. I looked up, and then slowly the realization sank in. 

“Oh god,” I sighed, “we’re digging up a body aren’t we?”

“We can handle it,” Dean said, but I cut him off. 

“No time like the present to learn the business,” I said, “besides I hear the job’s open.” 

“Then yes, yes we are going to dig up a body,” Dean said. 

“Charming blonde, hanging out in cemeteries, this is way too Buffy. It’s going to look derivative,” I griped. In my head I saw Jessica Moore as a senior in college, smiling at me and mouthing ‘thank Buffy.’ I shook it away, but instead the hollow, grinning corpse of the monster I’d called Beaver swam into my mind. 

“So graveyard?” I asked, pushing it back. 

“Not until tonight. Late tonight,” Sam said, “the whole grave robbing thing? Doesn’t go over so well with the public.”

“True. Also, there may be one tiny snag in our brilliant plan here. All of my friends are still pretty convinced that your serial killers,” I said, “and they’ve actually called the FBI on you multiple times.” 

“Called the FBI? But the FBI are already here on the case?” Dean said smugly, pulling a very convincing looking badge out of his coat pocket. “Besides, thanks to you we’ll be blowing town before any gets suspicious. And thank god, is everyone here rich and terrifying? I’ve had one too many soccer mom in a Lexus give me a dirty look.”

“It’s probably not your fault. Many eons ago, when this town first arose from the primordial ooze of Kane Software, their faces permanently froze like that,” I sighed. Dean suppressed a grin, instead pursing his lips and narrowing his eyes. I could sense that he was very slowly warming up to me, although his entire being seemed perpetually attuned and focused on the behavior of his younger brother. 

I felt my phone buzz inside of my bag, and I fished it out, considering ignoring the call until I saw that it was Logan.

“What’s up?” I answered.

“We may have a bit of a problem,” Logan answered breathlessly, “Whatever the hell happened this morning, I have no idea, but I don’t want a repeat incident.”

“What’s wrong?”

“A bunch of the old 09er gang has booked an exclusive suite in the new wing for the reopening this weekend.”

“No problem, we’ll have it taken care of by tonight.” 

“Well apparently the Pomroy family pulled a few strings and the rooms ready a little ahead of schedule,” Logan said, then paused, “And who is we?” 

Uh oh, Veronica. We is your serial killer pals from the international ghost hunting circuit. 

“Um, I’ll call you back. Try to stall them as long as you can and I’ll talk to the hotel.” 

And with that I hung up. Sam and Dean were looking attentively at me. 

“So, with your long standing expertise in this area, how would you prevent a party of overpowered rich kids from getting slaughtered by an angry ghost?” I asked. 

In unison, Sam pulled out an impressive collection of fake IDs for all sorts of positions, and Dean pulled his coat aside slightly to reveal the smooth handle of a gun.

“I’m with Dean, we just kill ‘em ourselves,” I grumbled. Here I was, racing off to rescue the people who’d made my life a living hell for so many years. Here I was again, heading off to Shelly Pomroy’s party to meet with Cassidy Casablancas.

“We’ve got salt and iron in the car,” Sam said, “so we can hold it off for a while if we need to. Do you have any connections at the hotel that could keep them away until tomorrow at least?”

“I can try a few things,” I said, “just get me there.” 

We piled in the impala, doors creaking as Sam and Dean slid into the front and I climbed into the back. Dean drove fast, but Sam seemed unperturbed by the speed. 

“You guys always cut things so close?”

“Veronica,” Sam began in a pained tone, “you remember all those earthquakes and stuff a few years ago? And then all that trouble with animal attacks? Or maybe the Sucrocorp controversy? Even that freak meteor shower?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, let’s just say that we’ve gotten pretty used to the world on the brink, and eventually you get thinking that maybe the panic just wastes effort,” Sam said. His eyes seemed very tired. 

“Sorry, I just, well I feel kind of idiotic for not realizing sooner,” I mumbled. 

“Realizing what?” Sam asked.

“This! All of this! Ghosts, and magic, and Cassidy Casablancas! I call myself a detective, and yet I never figured any of it out, and I keep thinking that maybe-“ I took a deep breath, afraid to say it aloud, “Maybe if I hadn’t left, never gotten out of the life, I would have and I could have prevented all of this. I could have been saving people and instead I was at Stanford, hiding from myself.” 

“Veronica, so was I,” Sam said with a smile. I tilted my head, confused. “I wanted out of the life so I ran away to college and I didn’t hunt for four years. I used to think that, you know, it was too toxic, too bloody, and I hated how it tore my family apart.” 

“And what changed?”

“I grew up,” Sam shrugged, “I saw the bigger picture. No matter how much it hurts, we do as much good as we can.”

Dean cleared his throat uncomfortably. 

“And, well- don’t think about what you could have done different. Just don’t.” 

“Like turned back there?” I suggested and Dean screeched the car quickly onto a side street, turned, and skidded back onto and into the Neptune Grand parking lot. 

I hurried out of the car as soon as it stopped and walked quickly into the hotel lobby. I marched up to the sleek young woman at the counter, smoothing down my hair quickly and trying not to look frantic. 

“I’d like to speak to the owner, please,” I said, “is she here?” 

“Is there anything I can do to help you first, ma’am?” asked the concierge with a tight smile. 

I wanted to respond with some snapping comment about helping me to stop the most entitled heirs and heiresses in town enter their own hotel room, but I knew I needed to get in her favor. 

“Listen, it’s sort of a- a personal problem,” I began, dropping my business-like tone, “my bff booked a hotel reservation here tonight for her birthday in one of the new rooms, but, well, we’re actually throwing her a surprise party. Is there any way you cancel the reservation without letting her know?” 

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t cancel a reservation without the credit card she booked it with,” the concierge sighed, still looking apathetic. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I just really wanted this party to go well, and she’s gonna freak if she loses all that money on the hotel bill,” I said, summoning a few tears. “I know you probably aren’t allowed to help, but if I could just talk to someone in charge, I’m sure they’d be able to sort things out. Could I at least see the manager?” The concierge was unmoved. 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but if you aren’t here to make a reservation yourself, there’s nothing I can do for you,” she said smoothly. Fine, if she wanted to get nasty, I could get nasty. 

I sniffled away from the counter and called Mac. 

“Q, your Bond is in need,” I said musically when she picked up. 

“That’s why you hired me,” Mac replied happily, “well, that and apparently so I could spend a whole day reading some real wild fanfiction about those two serial killers your hanging out with?”

“What?”

“Long story, never mind boss, carry on,” Mac said. 

“Is there any chance you could get into the Neptune Grand server and, um, rearrange a reservation for me?”

“It sounds highly illegal,” said Mac, sounding oddly pleased at the idea. 

“I need Shelly Pomroy’s reservation at the Grand to not exist. No one actually, should be in the hotel until the official reopening,” I said. 

“I’ll work on it, tell you when I get something,” Mac said, keys clicking in the background. 

“Thank you, Q,” I said and hung up. Never get between Mac and a problem she can really get into. 

I headed back outside to inform Sam and Dean of the situation. As I left the revolving door, my eyes focused involuntarily on the pavement in front of me. I remembered who had lain there the night of prom, unseeing eyes staring back up at me, the grin frozen on the half of his face that remained. There was no one he’d be as eager to get revenge on as the 09er crowd. 

No one still alive at least. 

Unfortunately when I looked up I was greeted by the sight of Madison Sinclair handing her keys off to the valet. Logan, Dick, Shelly Pomroy, Casey Gant, Luke Haldeman, and the whole 09er entourage followed behind her, Logan’s face strained with worry. There was no way Mac would have time to hack the server now. 

“Madison,” I said with furious sweetness, “fancy seeing you here on a Friday night. Come to get wild with the construction workers? You’re a little too late, they’re all going home.” 

“Did you tire them out?” Madison replied, “you know I hate dealing with your leftovers, Veronica.” She looked pointedly at Logan as she spoke. His face went white with anger. The whole situation was seriously in danger of going as pear-shaped as senile Grandma Mars always thought I’d turn out to be. 

“Excuse me, ma’am?” came a voice from behind us.

“What?” Madison whirled around and snapped. But when she saw Sam Winchester, six and a half feet of puppy dog cuteness and Olympian strength, she softened her gaze. I thought for a moment that she’d fluttered her eyelashes, and I had to wrestle down an urge to vomit into the potted plant by the door. 

“Is that your car?” Sam asked, pointing to he silver convertible that was skidding wildly off down the street. Madison gaped. “I don’t that valet is taking it to the garage.” 

The distraction was sufficient to put the 09er crowd into a whirl of furious phone calls. I actually felt genuine happiness for the first time at the hands of Madison Sinclair as I got to watch her abuse the sheriff over the phone. Then of course she stormed in and yelled at the frosty woman at the desk until she was reduced to a quivering pile of submission, only to discover that the website didn’t seem to have logged her reservation properly, and the room wasn’t ready. 

Satisfied, I walked out to the impala. Dean jogged up, panting a little as he discarded his valet cap into a trashcan. Sam leaned against the hood and smiled.

So maybe not the worst day of my life. I got to ruin Madison Sinclair’s day and I was about to burn the last remains of a murderer. I could get used to this. 

Logan came striding purposefully out of the Neptune Grand. I waved at him, feeling pleasantly calm for the first time all day. 

Logan walked up to the car, and then paused, seeming to be suffering some great indecision. Sam looked at me, confused. Dean raised an eyebrow. This seemed to settle something for Logan, and he punched Sam solidly in the face.

Sam staggered back against the car, but almost immediately he was in fighting position. Dean, however, already held Logan firmly in a headlock.

“What the hell are you doing?” I screamed. 

“We? Veronica, this is we? The we that you promised me you’d taken care of with the FBI?” Logan shouted back. 

“Alright, calm down,” Sam hissed, pulling Dean’s arms off and releasing Logan’s head before pinning him expertly against the hood of the car. Logan’s chest heaved with anger. Dean also towered over him, looking unforgiving. I rubbed my temples for a minute, utterly exasperated. 

“Logan, please, just get in the car, I’ll explain everything,” I urged him.

“I don’t want you to explain, Veronica, jesus, how the hell could you?” Logan yelled, fighting uselessly against the Winchesters. 

“This morning I couldn’t explain what’s really wrong with the Neptune Grand to you,” I said, “so don’t wait for me to explain, Logan, just trust me.”

We locked eyes for a long tense minute. Dean sighed pointedly. Finally, Logan spoke. 

“Fine, we’ll go somewhere else and then you’ll all explain what’s going on here.” Sam and Dean let him up and he shook himself off angrily.

“He sits in the back, stays the hell away from Sammy, and if I find a scratch anywhere on this car-“ Dean warned me. 

“Shut up,” I said, sliding into the back of the car. Logan sat next to me, still tense with anger, rubbing his knuckles where he’d rashly slammed them into Dean’s face. 

“Back to the hotel?” Sam asked me quietly. 

“My office maybe, home territory,” I suggested. “I’m assuming you’ve stalked it by now.” 

“I won’t say no…” Dean said, and then checked his rearview mirror to make sure Logan wasn’t about to make another attempt to jump them. 

We pulled up in front of the Mars investigations office and I hopped out of the car, pleading with the universe to let Mac still be there to diffuse the situation. Logan, however, seemed more sullen than furious now and he slumped out of the car.

“You cool?” Dean asked as he passed by, his own facial expression indicating the exact sort of smug indifference that always provoked Logan to throwing punches. However, Logan contented himself with a snarky comment. 

“Grandma called. She needs her car back.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, and Sam cast me an accusatory look before quickly putting a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder to prevent more violence. 

“This is a 1967 impala, it’s a classic, she’s got a 454-“

“Dean, any time Logan’s pissing you off, please try to remember that he drove a bright yellow SUV for his entire high school career,” I sighed. Dean’s rage immediately transitioned to slightly hysterical laughter, although I noticed that before he came inside, he ran a protective hand down the car’s hood. 

When I came into the office, Mac had leapt to her feet. 

“Veronica, why is-?” she began, pointing at Sam and Dean. “This is- I just-“ 

Words seemed to fail her and she plopped back down hard into her chair. 

“Mac, Logan, meet Sam and Dean Winchester, they hunt monsters. Sam, Dean, this is Logan my psychotic boyfriend and Mac, my genius so-much-more-than office assistant,” I said. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sam said, waving a little lamely. Dean merely nodded. 

“Sam and Dean are helping us with the situation at the Grand. If we can just keep people out of the construction area, thank you Mac, until tonight then the problem will be solved,” I said. 

“Yes, murder and grave robbing solves all of those tricky little issues,” Logan said coldly. 

“Well, actually…” Sam began uncomfortably. 

“Listen, okay, the FBI has had some misunderstandings with the Winchesters. Mac, I think you can confirm the existence of shape shifters which ought to explain some of it, and as for the grave robbing, well, that’s sort of the agenda for tonight,” I said. There was a moment of silence. 

“We have to salt an burn the remains of the ghost to banish from the hotel,” Dean finally said. Mac began nodding in relief. 

“The remains?” Logan said, “you’re saying whatever that thing is, that thing we felt, it has remains?”

“Well I guess if you’d been paying attention instead of punching the guys trying to save your ass, you might have noticed,” Dean said, “It’s a ghost. Ghosts are dead people. And dead people have remains.” 

I buried my head in my hands and cast a despairing look at Mac. Unfortunately, she seemed transfixed by smiling girlishly at Sam who grinned nervously back. 

“Listen man-“ Logan began to prickle again. 

“No you listen. I’ve already got one inexperienced civilian to watch out for on this hunt, and she needs a hell of a lot less babysitting than you.”

“I’m not a civilian,” Logan snarled. 

“I know your type. Now let your girlfriend help us finish off this spirit and you go back to daddy’s trust fund and wait it out,” Dean growled. It was probably the worst thing he could have said. I always attract such functional friends. Come to think about it, I’m sure that says something about me.

“Enough. Both of you. This is idiotic,” I said, officially done with this bullshit. 

“Hey, he’s the one who-“ Dean began. 

“This face? This is my shut the hell up face. And if you don’t shut the hell up, then you get to meet my shut the hell up tazer,” I smiled and buzzed the tazer in his face for a moment. “We have a ghost to deal with. The Winchesters know how to deal with it, and if Mac’s right and there’s a whole other world of crazy to deal with right under our noses, then I’m going to learn as much as I can about it. So we go and we burn the body, they leave town, and I set up shop as this town’s new combination PI ghost hunter, separate fees. Comprende?” 

There was a long silence. Sam subtly gave me a thumbs up from across the room. Mac broke the silence. 

“So, um, whose ghost is it?” 

Uh oh, Veronica. There’s that ever deepening pile of crap you usually end up sinking into sooner or later. 

“Cassidy Casablancas.”


	4. Chapter 4

"Children say that people are hung sometimes for speaking the truth." - Joan of Arc 

The graveyard that night was, predictably, dark. Really dark. I’ve broken my fair share of laws, okay? But this was a whole different ballpark. I’d have to rewrite the manual for charmingly sarcastic comments if the sheriff caught me digging an already occupied grave. 

“Ow!” I cursed as I rammed my shin into low metal bar marking the entrance to a sepulcher. 

“You okay?” Sam’s voice floated out of the darkness to my left. “Did you hit the bar hard?”

“Heh, like spring break all over again,” Dean snorted. 

“Wow, that is truly incredible. Headlines all over the country are going to be detailing this inspiring story of the brain damaged ape who learned to joke,” Logan replied, a little louder than I was comfortable with in the middle of the graveyard. 

“Uh oh, hulk smash,” Dean retorted, “Hey, here’s an idea. Become useful to this investigation in literally any way.” 

“Wow!” I said in my loudest voice. “I hope there aren’t any local police officers or, heaven forbid, supernatural menaces waiting out there for us! That would be so embarrassing!” 

“Point made!” Sam hissed nervously. 

“This is the grave,” I said in a whisper. 

“Woah,” Dean said, staring up at the formidable slab of carved marble. “Freaking rich people. This kid murders half a dozen of his classmates and they build him a monument. Last time I kicked it, I got a wooden cross in the middle of the woods.”

“Last time?” I said. 

“Let’s get digging,” said Sam hastily. 

“Consider it dug,” I said, sinking my shovel into the earth. The others followed suit. 

Ten minutes later I was covered in sweat, dirt, and an unholy blend of unmentionable muck. Dean and Logan were still bickering quietly to themselves at the other end of our nearly six-foot hole. 

“This is far less glamorous than I thought I would be,” I muttered to Sam, “and believe you me, I am a low-glam girl.”

“It’s not so bad usually,” Sam confessed, “Dean and I usually talk, you know, joke around and stuff. But your, um, boyfriend doesn’t seem to be in the mood.” 

“We both had a bit of a history with Be- with Cassidy,” I sighed, “and my pitbull has nothing on his over protectiveness.”

“Oh believe me, I get it,” Sam said. He looked pensive, or at least that’s how it seemed in the pitch-black darkness. “Why do you keep getting his name wrong? Cassidy, the ghost, I mean.” 

“We all went to high school together. Every one called him Beaver, it was- it wasn’t a nice joke but it stuck. His brother kind of used him as flunkie or victim interchangeably.”

“Worse has been said of Dean and I.”

“I was there when he killed himself. I thought he’d hurt my dad, and I was ready to shoot him myself, but Logan talked me down. He jumped anyways. I hated him so much, for all the horrible things he did to me and to my friends and to anyone who got in his way. But I could never stop feeling… guilty that we called him Beaver.” I said, leaning on my shovel and trying to wipe my face, but only succeeding in moving the mud around a little. 

“You’re pretty badass Veronica, you know that right?” Sam said finally.

“I prefer kickass, thank you very much. And just so you’re aware, I’ve got an in with the local biker gang.”

“I defeated Lucifer,” Sam said casually, “not like it’s a contest or anything, but…” 

I began to laugh despite myself. Sam shushed me. 

“I’m sorry I thought you were a killer Sam,” I said seriously, when the giggles passed, “I think you deserve so much more than that, and I’m sorry I let my own bitterness cloud my judgment.”

“Hey, I was one of the FBIs most wanted for going on a wild killing spree across America, it wasn’t exactly an unfounded suspicion,” Sam shrugged. 

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” I said, “I’m sorry about Stanford. I’m sorry she died.”

“Oh,” Sam said quietly. 

Dean’s shovel made a hollow thump against the lid of the coffin. 

“We got a dead one,” he called blandly. 

“Did anyone bring marshmallows?” Logan asked with a smug lilt to his voice. 

To my surprise, Dean laughed hoarsely, and slapped Logan on the back. Logan responded not with a quick jab to the nose, but a friendly shove. 

“Uh, Exorcizamus te?” Sam began. 

“Chill out Sammy, I’m not possessed, I’m… ya know-“ Dean scoffed. 

“You’re what?” Sam asked. Logan grinned and threw an arm around Dean’s shoulders. They both beamed at us through the darkness. Sam tucked his locks behind his ears and shuddered. “God, this is terrifying. I liked it better when they were fighting. What the hell did you say?” 

“I’m a mature adult okay? We worked it out,” Dean said defensively. 

“Did he pay you?” I asked. 

“I’m extremely hurt that you would jump to that conclusion, Veronica, as if I were nothing but a cheap harlot,” Logan said, putting a hand to his chest. 

“Oh, I’m sure you weren’t cheap. How much?” I said, folding my arms. 

“Fifty bucks,” Dean admitted. 

“Too bad,” I sighed, scraping dirt off the coffin now exposed below us. “You really got stiffed.” 

“Seriously?” Dean said, turning on Logan. 

“We’ll measure ‘em later boys, but right now the only stiff I want to worry about is the one under our feet,” I announced. 

Sam leapt down into the hole and began to pry at the coffin lid. Despite all my bravado, I averted my eyes. Every girl’s got a few faces she never needs to see again. Sam crawled back out on the grass and Dean began pouring road salt down into the hole with big, wild shakes. Logan grabbed another container and flung a shower of salt down into that dark pit. Sam meanwhile had wrestled a huge container of lighter fluid from his duffel bag and began sloshing down with the salt. The air filled with the scent. 

“Ready?” I asked them, pulling a lighter from my pocket. 

“Let’s burn this son of a bitch,” Dean said. 

“And you’re sure this will work? This will… set him at peace or whatever?” Logan asked, trying to keep skepticism from his tone.

“Don’t know about the peace part. Don’t really care,” Dean responded. 

“The hotel will be safe again,” Sam said, “that’s the point.” 

I flicked the lighter, took a deep breath, and then I gently tossed the flame down into the hole. For a split second the glow illuminated the shape of an emaciated face, pulled into a gruesome grin. I didn’t even flinch. Surprise, surprise. I guess there’s no point in being afraid of a body. It’s the spirit I wanted to burn. 

We walked slowly back to the car. The night of digging had pulled my shoulders into a knot of pain, and I needed a shower more than if I’d just been out for a relaxing soak in the La Brea tar pits. 

“Are you skipping town tomorrow?” I asked, unwilling to voice my anxiety about handling a whole new world of spooks and kooks without my wacky pair of mentors. 

“We’ll hang around another day, just to make sure,” Sam reassured me. 

“Well don’t stick around on my part, bucko, this town ain’t big enough for the two of us,” I joked. 

“I’m pretty sure he’s about as big as two of you,” Dean suggested.

“Two Veronica Mars’, I’m starting to like this idea…” I mused. 

“Sign me up,” Logan mock saluted. 

“But seriously,” Sam said, rolling his eyes, “we’re going to stick around to make sure there’s no more trouble with the hotel, look up a friend, and then we’ll be out of here. Especially since… well you did call the FBI on us.” 

“I don’t think they’re pursuing the lead,” I shrugged, “well, give me a call before you leave town.” 

We had reached the cars, and now it was time for our clean (strictly in the legal sense) getaway. Sam and Logan, who had become uncharacteristically well-behaved since we’d burnt the remains, began heaving the equipment into the trunk of the impala. 

“Hey, Veronica, remind me of some of those background checks you were talking about,” Dean said, beckoning me away towards the streetlight. 

“There’s a few good databases I can get you into, if there was any way you could get PI creds then-“ I began. 

“Right, are you okay,” Dean said, immediately dropping the casual tone and lowering his voice. 

“I’m fine,” I said coldly, thrown by the sudden change.

“Are you sure, because believe me, I know the look of secret brooding when I see it. Is this about the guy we just toasted or that fact that we just toasted a guy?”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” I hissed. 

“I mean are you freaking out because we just opened the grave of the piece of shit who hurt you, or because it might have solved the problem,” Dean said. “I can get behind this tough vibe you’re putting on, but I’m not driving away from this town until I know you’re cool.” 

“I’m-“ I sighed in frustration, “it’s not Cassidy. We made sure that’s over and done. If you want to know the honest truth, I’m afraid. I’m afraid because I’m a private detective, not a hunter. This isn’t my life, and I feel like the crappy substitute doing a half ass job.” 

“Seriously?” Dean laughed incredulously, “it’s your first hunt and you’re worried about costumer satisfaction. Veronica, you remember how when we met I was a huge dick to you?”

“Does kind of make an impression.”

“Well I do it for a reason. This isn’t a nice life, and it usually isn’t a very long one. It’s important, though, I’ve come to terms with the fact that what I do matters. But I sure as hell don’t want to drag people in just to get them killed. And that isn’t me saying you’re incapable of taking care of yourself, it’s self-defensive. I’ve been the lone survivor a few times too many.”

“So what changed?” I asked quietly.

“I looked you up,” Dean sighed, “and it was a little too familiar. The people like us, who get born into it, who lose someone, who’ve already been down in the muck, there’s no apple pie life for us. And it’s better not to try it. You’ve gotta be who you are, Veronica. And this is what you do. I’m not corrupting you, I’m training you.”

“Thank you,” I said, and then I gave him a sudden punch to the arm, “and that’s for being a huge asshole. Does it seem like I’m lacking for overprotective idiots in my life right now?”

“Ow, jesus, you punch hard!” Dean complained. 

“You’re lucky I’ve mellowed so much with age,” I said, and walked back to the car where Sam and Logan were waiting. 

\-------------------

I took a long shower as soon as Logan and I got back to the house, and then immediately dropped off to sleep. The dreams were bad. Shelley Pomroy’s party, hazing floating lanterns in the air. Cassidy Casablancas slipping back into a dark bedroom, running his hand up a leg, and shifting aside the white dress. Blonde hair splayed out on the pillow. I watch, as if I were the ghost this time. Whispering in her ear “I’m not here.” But this time, it’s different. Waking, screaming, the girl on the bed sits up. Jessica Moore. She bursts into flames, and Cassidy burns with her. “I’m not here,” they both scream as they burn. 

I woke up with a violent start. Logan was already up and I could hear him making something in the kitchen. I sighed and allowed myself a moment of horrible, face-crumpling, misery. 

Come on Veronica, pull it together. What harm can the ghosts in your head do? 

Logan came back into the bedroom and set a cup of coffee by side of the bed. I had planned on being cool towards him until he apologized for the taste of psychotic jackass who’d blasted in from the past last night. But my cuddle urges were seriously unfulfilled. 

“Hey look, I’m sorry about… yeah…” Logan said uncomfortably as I curled up against his warm chest. He had that slightly alarmed look that told me he knew how unforgiven he was, but couldn’t tell what I was playing at with the nice act. “I’m trying to do better, but, well it wasn’t what you could call a normal day. Beat up by a ghost isn’t a bad excuse for me, huh?”

“That’s just it,” I said, finally putting my finger on the lingering discomfort niggling in the back of my mind, “that’s exactly what’s wrong.”

“You’re going to have to elaborate here, sweetie,” Logan sighed repentantly. 

“This isn’t about your asshole male posturing thing,” I dismissed him, sitting up and wrapping my arms around my legs, “if that ghost was Cassidy, the real spirit of Cassidy, why did you go after you in the hallway? I’m the one he had the history with.”

“I dunno,” Logan shrugged, “knew it would hurt you, maybe? Or just convenience, ghosts might not be super rational about these things.” 

“I guess your right,” I shrugged, “it just bugs me that I can’t immediately get all this. For the first time in my life I feel really, really behind the curve.” 

“Look, if you want to go study with those guys tonight, I’m trying to be cool with it-“ Logan began. 

“What? Tonight is the Grand’s reopening. We’re going, obviously,” I cut him off.

“Never thought I’d live to see the day when Veronica Mars pressures me into going to an 09er elite gala,” Logan said, “are we going to get sloshed on Dom Perignon and make fun of the nouveau riche?” 

“We have to be sure the burning thing worked,” I said severely. 

“Fine, fine, but I’ll have to get some dry cleaning if I’m going to hold to your party standards.”

“Could you take in my dress? I have some salt rounds to pack.”

I spent the rest of the day jittering around the house. Mac called around noon to let me know that she’d run into Dick Casablancas staggering down the boardwalk in a drunken haze and, after a few thrown beer bottles, confessed that he wanted to hire me to track down whoever had disturbed his dead little brother’s grave last night. 

Logan slunk back into the house an hour before we had to leave to find me holed up in front of the computer, methodically creating an enormous pile of crazy paper around me. Without a word he hung a dress on the door.

“That’s not my gala dress,” I said before he left, “I know because my gala dress is black and practical and covers my back.”

“Can’t have my arm candy re-wearing an evening gown,” Logan said dryly. 

“That dress is my battle gear, Logan,” I complained, eyeing the new dress with suspicion. 

“A little rayon over the back isn’t going to stop people from stabbing it,” Logan shrugged, “so why not show them every you’ve got and let them know your still impenetrable.” 

“I’ve always been told I’m a red satin girl,” I mused, fingering the material with interest. For no clear reason I felt suddenly reassured. 

Logan and I pulled up in front of the Neptune Grand a few minutes after fashionably late. My clutched bulged a little awkwardly on account of the baggie of salt and tazer jammed in underneath the lipstick and Kleenex. 

When we entered the newly renovated ballroom and I felt Celeste Kane’s eyes come to rest on my unusually bare chest, I couldn’t help but smirk a little. 

“I couldn’t have imagined a smoother opening,” a husky voice said behind me. Petra Landros stood shimmering in a gold gown. “I suppose I have you to thank?”

“The issue should be resolved,” I agreed. Petra Landros nodded, the hint of a smile curling her lip. 

“As always, Ms. Mars, it has been a pleasure to do business with you,” Petra Landros said, “And Mr. Echolls, I’m so pleased you could make it. If your leave extends long enough I’d be delighted to have you at the summer chamber of commerce dinner.” 

“Heartbreakingly, I’ll be flying over the Persian gulf, but at least there the hummus will be edible,” Logan said cheerfully. 

“Thank you, Petra, and the hotel looks wonderful,” I laughed nervously. 

“Ms. Landros?” came a cold voice from behind me, stressing the Miss just a little too hard. Celeste Kane had come slinking up behind me, her mouth twisting slightly as though she’d just been forced to swallow a lemon. 

“Celeste, darling, how wonderful to see you,” Petra said, miraculously managing to be graceful.

“I’d just like to ask why your staff have insisted on giving me a room on the East side of the building when I explicitly asked them for a view that doesn’t face right onto the street? The young lady at the counter informed me that my regular will no longer be available,” Celeste said, one talon resting on her hip and the other stroking a diamond pendant. 

“I’m afraid she was right, Celeste, the Western penthouses have been converted into a service area so that we can better provide our exclusive guests with speedy assistance,” Petra said without missing a beat. 

“And you couldn’t have converted the street view?” Celeste snapped with the same exasperation I’d heard her direct at Lily a hundred times. 

“We made the decision to convert the West side as the result of certain events that transpired in that hallway causing some of our guests discomfort with the level of publicity,” Petra said, convoluted politeness leaving Celeste unable to respond for a moment. 

“Well I don’t see why I can’t just—“ she began and Petra artfully steered her away through the crowd towards the Champaign fountain. 

“Nothing like faulty servants to direct the reptile queen’s rage away from us, huh?” Logan quipped. 

I didn’t respond. The moments she’d mentioned the hotel room a cold sense of dread had been growing in my stomach. For a moment I thought I might throw up. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t face it. That would be too cruel. 

“Veronica, are you okay?” Logan asked, suddenly concerned. He seized my hand and bent down until his soft dark eyes were level with mine. I began to tremble. 

“Why did it go after you first, Logan?” I whispered, “Oh god, I was so stupid, oh God.”

“Veronica, tell me what’s going on,” Logan urged, unable to keep the fear out of his voice. 

“We have to call them, we have to call Sam and Dean now,” I muttered, digging out my phone. 

“Tell me why,” Logan said slowly, clenching his teeth. I dialed and the phone began to ring. 

“Cassidy Casablancas wasn’t the only person to die violently in the Neptune Grand,” I answered breathlessly. “There was someone else. He died in a hotel room, shot, right through the forheard, no one smashed in his head.”

“What are you saying?” Logan hissed, recoiling from me as he began to realize. 

“Someone who died in the Neptune Grand with a history of smashing people’s heads in,” I said. Sam picked up his phone. 

“Hello? Veronica? What’s up?” Sam said.

“Sam, I don’t think it was Cassidy, it just doesn’t add up” I said quickly, “you and Dean have to go right now and burn another body.”

“What? Whose body? Veronica we can’t just—“ Sam began.

“Aaron Echolls,” I said, “you have to destroy Aaron Echolls before tonight.” 

“Veronica, they’ve shut down the whole cemetery, they’ve got police patrolling every church. Apparently the brother of our crispy corpse made a big fuss,” Sam said. 

“Well, find a way!” I almost shouted, “or people here will die!” 

“Ok, uh, ok, I’ll call you when it’s done, and Veronica?” 

“Yeah?”

“You get out of there. Don’t go upstairs. Leave the party,” Sam said firmly. I hung up, heart pounding. 

“Are they going to do it?” Logan asked, his voice trembling a little. 

“Lamb’s got the whole department patrolling the cemeteries after Dick kicked up a fuss; they could take hours,” I said, voice cracking slightly. The crowd around me had begun to feel oppressive and all I wanted to do was run, turn my back, and let Sam and Dean sort out the mess. 

“Let’s go,” Logan said, “please Veronica, can we go?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, not ready to look at Logan and see how much I was about to hurt him. 

“I can’t,” I said in a small voice, “I have to make sure no one goes upstairs.”

“It always has to be you, doesn’t it?” Logan laughed bitterly. 

“I would ask you to leave without me, but I know it would insult you,” I whispered, “I wish you would leave, Logan, I don’t want this to happen to you.” 

“Wishes, horses, you know how it goes,” Logan said. He looked very young suddenly. I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my face into his chest. 

“Excuse me,” said a sharp voice. Celeste Kane was elbowing her way through the crowd, looking disgusted as usual. Someone had apparently dribbled cocktail sauce down her cream colored gown. Of course, if life was going to hand me a bad day, it was going to dole out the whole package. If there was any person in this town who I was seriously tempted to ignore the imminent death of, Celeste Kane was the closest. 

“Here, Celeste, let me help you with that,” Logan said, smoothly moving in front of her and dabbing at the stain with a tissue.

“Don’t,” Celeste said sharply and then unclenched her fists and sighed, “touch it anymore. You’ll just rub it around. Five thousand dollar dress and of course its ruined by clumsy waiters.”

“So hard to have nice things in this world, huh?” Logan said, continuing to blot at the red stain, “would you believe just last week my gardener-?”

“Please, don’t touch it,” Celeste snarled, “I’m going to go change. All you’re doing is making it worse.”

“So sorry, Celeste, incredibly sorry, Veronica?” Logan turned to me, “would you run to the front desk and see if they have anything for Ms. Kane’s dress? Maybe one of those bleach pens would do the trick?”

“Yes, the trick of leaving permanent damage to the fabric,” Celeste nearly yelled and yanked herself away from Logan and began stalking towards the main lobby. 

“It was an incredible attempt,” I said to Logan, following after her. 

“Yeah, but what now?” Logan muttered. 

“We either lock her in a closet spend the rest of our lives in prison or we miraculously persuade her to leave the hotel,” I replied grimly. 

“Community soap,” Logan sighed, “well I guess we know a lawyer.” 

Celeste Kane had left the ballroom and we struggled after her through the forest of silk and taffeta. By the time we made it to the lobby, she had stepped into the elevator and the doors slid closed. 

“Watch for the floor,” I said, standing back as Logan jammed the call button. But I already knew where she would be going. The worse possible floor of the building she could go to. 

“Sir, you only need to press the button once,” urged the receptionist and Logan slammed the button a few more times for emphasis. 

“Logan,” I hissed in his ear, “my gun’s in the car. Glove compartment. I’ll wait for the elevator, you run and get it.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Logan hissed back. 

“It’s loaded with salt rounds, Logan, please, I promise I won’t go up without you,” I pleaded. 

Logan growled with irritation and then shot off towards the car. The elevator chimed gently. I got in, holding the door open button. The elevator began making a low beep of irritation as I held the door with my arm. Logan returned just as the elevator made a last exasperated beep and began to close and he slid through the gap with seconds to spare. 

“Here,” he muttered as we rose up, handing me the gun from his pocket. 

“You keep it,” I said. 

“Veronica, it’s yours,” Logan protested, but then the doors opened. We burst into the hallway just as Celeste Kane stepped into the elevator next to us, freshly adorned in black linen. I made a jump for the elevator, but Celeste pointedly pushed the button to close the door. She smiled before the doors shut in my face. 

“Thank god, let’s get out of here,” I sighed, “maybe we could shut down the elevators or something, make sure that no one else gets up. Logan, do you think you could switch off the power if I broke you into the breaker room? Or maybe we could just trash the interiors of the elevators, Logan? Logan!”

It had gotten very cold. 

When I turned at first I couldn’t see him. Then I looked down. Logan was crawling to his feet, blood pouring from his mouth. 

“Veronica…” A gentle whisper tickled the back of my neck. 

“Get away!” I yelled, hating my voice for breaking as I fumbled for the bag of salt, “get back!”

“Remember what happened to Joan of Arc, Veronica?” Whispered the voice. Logan made a strangled cry and dropped again. 

“Leave him alone!” I screamed, randomly flinging a handful of salt in Logan’s direction. 

“What’s the matter Veronica?” Aaron Echolls said, flickering into existence, “shouldn’t a father get to discipline his son?” 

He looked exactly the same. Ghosts wouldn’t age of course, but it still disturbed me. Same smile. Same expertly crafted Hollywood hair. Same outfit even from the night they’d found him here. He crouched on the floor, holding Logan by the hair, running his finger along Logan’s split lip with almost tender delicacy. 

“Get the hell away from him,” I said, not caring anymore if I cried. 

“Family matter, you understand,” Aaron said pensively, finding the cut with his fingernail and digging it in. 

I flung a handful of salt towards him and he flickered away again. Logan dragged himself towards the corner. 

“Run,” he begged me. I started to answer him when I felt a hand close around my throat. 

“You ruined my life you know,” Aaron whispered in my ear, “and you remember what I did to the last little bitch who thought she could do that to me. Your BFF. At least she knew when to shut up and give it up.” 

My vision began to get fuzzy as I gasped for air. Suddenly a gun shot rang out and I fell to the ground, gasping in long shuddering breaths. Logan held the gun in his trembling hands and Aaron was gone again. 

“Wow dad, nice to see you too,” Logan laughed, spitting another glob of blood onto the carpet, “Are you going to ask me to avenge you? Was it a foul and unnatural murder? Oh wait, it was and I still don’t care.” 

“Always such a smart mouth, Logan, until I beat that tongue out of you. And look what sort of reputation you’ve got now. Squeaky clean in the army until everyone thinks you kill your junky girlfriend,” Aaron’s voice purred, seeming to come from everywhere. 

“Just trying to live up to your example,” Logan snarled. 

“Oh, and you will,” Aaron laughed, “like father like son.”

I stumbled to my feet. Logan’s mouth opened for a second in surprise and then he slumped against the wall. Another trickled of blood ran down from his nose. 

Or was it blood? It was almost black.

Logan’s eyes opened and he grinned a bloody smile. 

“Hello Veronica,” he said. He reached out and picked up the gun. I bolted. 

I ran down the hallway as fast as I could, turning randomly, hoping vaguely for a staircase or some way to get out. I could hear Logan behind me, but I knew it wasn’t Logan anymore. Lights flickered and sputtered out behind me and my eyes focused wildly on shadows. 

“It’ll be such a nice story. Murderer’s kid, violent history, finally succeeds in killing his girlfriend after two false accusations,” Aaron called with Logan’s voice from behind me. “And the girl, that sweet little Nancy Drew who always had a thing for the bad boys, who always stuck her nose into everyone’s business, who always ended up on the wrong side of the tracks fighting for the wrong team? They’ll all mourn the pretty blonde victim.” 

I skidded around one corner and tripped, my knees dragging across the carpet. I scrambled upright and kept running. 

“Well, maybe her dad will mourn, or a few oddball friends, but I think the rest of this town will remember who you really were,” Logan’s voice was closer behind me now. “At the end of the day, Veronica, it’s always been a game of reputation.”

A dead end. I slammed up against the wall, looking for a cupboard, a room, anywhere to hide. Logan’s body turned the corner. His mouth was smeared with blood, like he’d been drinking it, and he was tossing the gun casually in one hand. 

“What’s your reputation, Veronica? Because you certainly did a number on mine,” he laughed, “do you remember what happened to Joan of Arc? Thought she heard voices, saw things that weren’t there. Maybe she was haunted.” 

My phone began to buzz in my clutch. Sam or Dean, I hoped. But if Aaron was still standing in front of me, the burning hadn’t worked. It was all over. It was over for me. 

“You know, they say you can spot the real has beens when they start trying to live through their kids,” I sighed, crossing my arms and leaning back against the wall. “It’s not a good look on you, Aaron.” 

“And she still tries to be funny,” he sighed. “But you won’t be laughing when I smash your head in like I did to so many other nobodies who got to live while I had to die.” 

“That bugs you, huh?” I said, sensing a deeper anger. “You don’t care who did it, but it bugs you that we all just went on without you. That you're going to spend the rest of eternity losing it in an old hotel while the rest of world will forget about the second-rate action star who once murdered a teenaged girl.”

“Well you’re not exactly the forgive and forget type either, are you?” He said, pointing the gun at me as he slowly advanced. 

“Guilty as charged,” I shrugged, “but I want you to know something, Aaron.”

“What’s that,” he said, and Logan’s bloody mouth twisted into a grin. 

“I didn’t even think of you when I figured out what was murdering people at the Neptune Grand. Guess I’ve finally moved on and put it behind me. Little Beaver Casablancas stole all your thunder!” 

“But now you know!” Logan roared, shoving me backwards into the wall. I began to laugh, head ringing from the blow. 

“Remember you forever? You’re nothing to me. You’re a ghost, a bit of ectoplasm, nothing but a decomposing memory, nothing but a blip on the electromagnetic spectrum, you’re nothing but electricity,” As I said it, a plan began to form in my mind. A stupid, desperate plan, but still a plan. “The only person I will remember forever is my best friend, Lily Kane!”

Logan lunged forward, and I jammed my tazer into his side. I gave him the highest voltage I could and kept it going even as he spasmed beneath me. Something flickered in from of my eyes and with a roar, the shuddering image of Aaron Echolls flew back away from Logan. I dropped the tazer and fumbled for the gun in Logan’s hand. 

“I- I-“ Logan stuttered. 

“It’s okay, it wasn’t you,” I soothed him. 

“No, no, I gave up… I gave up the ghost,” Logan giggled hysterically. Great. 

I pointed the gun at Aaron and pulled Logan to his feet. He sagged against my shoulder. I wouldn’t be able to hold him for long, but if we got to a staircase we might be able to find help. 

“Get out of my way,” I snarled, leveling the weapon at Aaron.

To my surprise, he staggered backwards before I even pulled the trigger. He looked up at me, confusion and hatred written across his face. He seemed to glow brighter, filling the room with pulsing light. Then I smelled it. Lighter fluid. 

I stopped pointing the gun at him and I smiled. 

“Do you remember what happened to Joan of Arc?”

Aaron Echolls burst into flames. His last words were a long shriek of fury, unknown syllables of hatred and rage until there was nothing left to scream, not ashes, just nothing. He burned and I moved on. 

\------------------

Petra Landros called the next day to inquire about Logan’s health and I graciously told her that it wasn’t her fault that Logan had the allergic reaction, but simply that the hotel ought to label its crab puffs more explicitly. I did not elaborate on the strangely bloody state of the penthouse floor, chalking it up to Celeste Kane’s mishap with the cocktail sauce. 

Logan and Dean sat out by the pool, having what seemed to be a friendly conversation. Logan looked deflated, bags under his eyes betraying the sleepless night he’d had except on those rare minutes when he slipped into nightmares. Dean wasn’t saying much, but he’d handed Logan a beer and now they were tossing matches into the water. 

I watched them through the window as Sam unloaded a stash of talismans and protective sigils onto my desk. 

“You alright?” He asked me. 

“Fine, ready to work,” I said quietly. 

“Okay, but if you’re ever… not fine, you call again,” Sam said firmly. 

“And you’ll come racing to the rescue?” I asked. 

“We’re driving down to Stanford actually,” Sam admitted, “I haven’t visited the grave since…” 

“You say hi to her for me. Remind her I’m the dorky prospie with the chip on her shoulder,” I smiled. 

“We’ll call if we ever need your help, too,” Sam said, “This is a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“You do the digging, I do the thinking, I like it,” I said. 

“By the way, if you need any local muscle, we managed to get back in contact with our old friend here. Turns out he didn’t get wasted, he just went into a little retirement for his family.”

“And he’s back now? The old hunter?”

“Yeah, retirement never takes well with people like us. He’s the one who diverted the cops long enough for us to get to Aaron Echolls. Really came through, even though we hadn’t talked since he was in high school.”

“He went to high school here?” I said, suddenly mystified. I’d been imagining a crusty old man with a cabin full of assault rifles. 

“Yep,” Sam said, gesturing to Dean and hoisting his bag over his shoulder. Dean shook Logan’s hand and then jogged in to meet us. 

“Ready to go?” He asked Sam and they loped out toward the car. “Did you give her Weevil’s number?”

“What?” I said flatly. 

“Weird name, I know, but that’s what he goes by. He’s been in the game a long time, you can trust him.”

Dean scribbled down Weevil’s number on a piece of paper and got into the impala. Sam lingered uncomfortably for a second. 

“Uh, Veronica?” He blushed, “Tell Mac I said hi, okay?”

And with that they drove away, leaving me gaping on the porch. I watched the car round the corner and pass behind the grove of looming palms and I was on my own. 

But not really. 

So I guess that’s who I am now. Veronica Mars, official Neptune ghost buster. I’ve been working for a while now to dig up dirt in this town and bring all those skeletons to light, only difference now is I take it more literally. But of course where would I be without a recently cleared for light exercise and heavy thinking best friend, an over qualified computer nerd who may or may not keep skyping my mentor in the name of research, a father whose sage advice on police business always seem applicable to the world of the supernatural, and a shell-shocked boyfriend yet again courageously collecting the pieces of himself and rebuilding? 

And of course, I’ve got my own motorcycle gang. 

In a town like Neptune, I need all the allies I can get. And in a business like mine I need people I can trust. I guess you could say we’re like a little family. 

Just like old times, I’m running a family business.


End file.
